


Best Job Share Ever?

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Series: Cat-Herding for Fun and Profit [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Award Winners, Challenge Response, Clarke's Third Law, Crossover, Flirting, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Introspection, Shovel Talk, Snark, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't exactly what Buffy had been expecting when she'd offered her hot chick with superpowers self up to Nick Fury for joint world saveage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Best Job Share Ever?

**Author's Note:**

> A series of connected shortfic written for the 2012 Twistedshorts daily crossover challenge. No intentional comics canon for either series or movie; set post-Chosen and post-Avengers.
> 
> Award winner in [Round 29](http://sunnydawards.dragonydreams.com/round29/winners29.html) of the Sunnydale Memorial Fanfiction Awards in the category, "Best Movie Crossover Pairing".

Here's the secret to coping with genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and utter pain in the ass Tony Stark-- or so Pepper told her on her first day on the job:

_If you actually have to think of it as coping, then you're not._

Pepper probably prefers more action-oriented, collaborative terms. Such as _enabling_ or _diverting_ , depending on the day and the situation. But then, _she's_ had him wrapped around her littlest finger for years. Buffy is rapidly coming to favor slightly more descriptive phrases such as _cat-herding_ or _arguing into submission_. When she'd agreed to test-run the Slayer/SHIELD cooperative contract in her own person, she hadn't expected to be put undercover playing stealth bodyguard slash personal assistant to a guy who's like Willow crossed with Spike and Angel both, on science steroids.

It's a good thing she's actually as smart as her SAT scores say rather than her high school transcripts or work evaluations, or she'd never be able to keep up with the business side of things. And her LA society girl training is getting more of a workout than it's had in _years_. She thinks of Cordy every time she dresses down a skeazeball at a Stark Industries party, and of Willow every time she has to give Tony the Resolve Face to drag him away from something he finds far more interesting than another boring meeting. Not exactly what she'd been expecting when she'd offered her hot chick with superpowers self up to Nick Fury for joint world saveage. Sneaky bastard.

She has to admit, though, Tony _does_ keep her on her toes. She doesn't know how Natasha managed, back in the day when his A-word distraction of choice had been _alcohol_ rather than _Avengers_. Or Pepper, before that. There's no way either fearsome lady is baseline human; you'd think sobering up might have slowed the guy down a little, but you couldn't prove it by Buffy. Without Slayer endurance, she would have dropped in her tracks one week in.

Even when he's out of the office, that doesn't mean the rest of her job grinds to a halt-- it just means she has _more_ to juggle while he's off superheroing or being brilliant. And when he's not around to be a flashy, magnetic distraction-- in armor, or out-- Buffy has to wield an even firmer fist over the legacy company assholes. It's not just that she's a young, beautiful woman in a position of power; it's that she isn't Pepper Potts or even Natalie Rushman. It's like the early days of envying Kendra's handbook-perfect record, or being jealous of Faith's charisma, only she has to keep the Slayer thing under wraps. At least he's not CEO anymore; and Pepper's got her own PA to help.

There are _some_ benefits to the job, though, she has to admit. Tony's kind of hilarious, for an older dude with an ego the size of a small moon. He's already well-trained to respect a determined woman, which makes for a nice change from most of her previous non-Slayage occupations. His A.I. makes her nostalgic for Giles every time she takes the elevator up to the private floors of Stark Tower-- or Spike, when JARVIS is in full snide and arguing with her about tracking down his master. And best of all are the days when she finds Tony in company with the other Avengers.

Banner's cute, in a favorite uncle kind of way; he reminds her of Oz, and sometimes Xander when he's ducking his head and trying not to draw attention. Rogers reminds her of the days when her duty as the Slayer had been all that kept her together; he's got some essential, hammered steel edge in him that even she responds to, and she gets the feeling he'd understand if she ever felt the urge to talk about heaven. Thor is like an overgrown Riley with a case of the Medievals, and Natasha is pure concentrated kickass. And as for Clint....

She slips off her shoes as she steps into the testing range, leaving the four inch heels behind by the door, and pads up to Tony with her clipboard tucked under her arm. The place used to be where all the baby handguns came to take their first steps toward production, but since Stark Industries went into the clean energy business it's been wholly devoted to muscle-powered lethality. Lately, it's been by far her favorite place to track Tony down.

She licks her lips at the sight of Clint Barton's giganormous biceps as the agent draws his bowstring to his ear. An experimental shaft is nocked and ready: he holds it, releases it, and draws another from the quiver in one smooth, flexing motion. Before he can release the second arrow, though, a massive splotch of paint appears at the other end, obliterating the target.

Tony whistles approvingly. "Think you can get more range than our paint-ball guns with one of those?"

And _there_ is Buffy's cue, if she's ever heard one. "I hear no evil, I see no evil," she chirps in his ear, "but for the record? A _girl_ could throw a paint bomb farther than one of those SHIELD peashooters will."

Tony startles visibly, then turns and shoots her a narrow-eyed stare. "One of these days, I _will_ have JARVIS tie an alarm to your movements, Summers. Don't think I won't."

"That could be fun, if you let him vary the tones," she replies nonchalantly, tilting her head as if in consideration. "You know that one hall in HQ with a door opening every ten feet for like, miles? I could get through a couple whole verses of a song ducking in and out of those."

Clint chuckles at that, deliberately relaxing his stance. Then he detaches the tip of the second arrow, offering Buffy the paint-filled, oversized point. "Speaking of girly throws. Care to put your money where your mouth is?" he teases.

She looks down at the clipboard in her hand, then at the arrow point, biting her lip; then solemnly offers Clint a trade. Tony doesn't like being handed things, but trusts his teammates if they choose to pass something on, and there's nothing he likes more than watching someone test his latest invention. She hefts the arrowhead in her hand, listening for the sound of a nib scratching on paper as she eyes the purple splotch marring the wall; then she cocks her arm back, making a show of winding up.

"I'll show you girly," Buffy says, smirking at the speculative appreciation in Clint's gaze, and throws.


	2. Pulling Back the Curtain

She finds him one day after he's snarked his way through another in-house meeting, hands in his pockets, standing in front of a window with a thousand yard stare. Buffy doesn't think Tony's actually looking at the cityscape, though-- or if he is, she decides as she walks up behind him, all he's seeing is the damage still left over from the invasion. For all he's like twice her age and has seldom met a vice he won't try at least once, she's discovered they have a surprising amount of things in common.

"Don't you get tired of it?" she asks, bluntly.

He doesn't startle; she hadn't made any effort to mute the click of her heels. Instead he draws a slow breath, then turns dark, fathomless eyes on her. Usually he directs that gaze over a pair of sunglasses, muting it and giving it a touch of wry humor; here in the bowels of his own building, he's foregone those lines of defense. Buffy doesn't fool herself that she's seeing the real Tony Stark -- if anyone does, he reserves that for Pepper and his AIs, and maybe Bruce-- but she knows what it means that she's seeing even this much, and it's the reason she's asking the question.

Did Fury know she'd fit in so well, she wonders, when he asked her to come here? Probably; he's like Xander that way, and not just because of the eyepatch. He notices things most people overlook. And by wedging her into the Avengers' support crew instead of adding her ego to the main team, he's managed to hit multiple stones with one bird. Not that she'd realized that at first.

"Tired of what?" Tony replies, flashing a self-deprecating smile. "The endless rounds of R and D meetings? You ought to know; you're the one who keeps adding them to my schedule. It's a shame adoption's been so slow on the virtual collaboration front; it's not as though we don't have the technology to make it practically seamless. I could cut my office time in _half_." 

"More than half, don't lie," Buffy retorts, dryly. "And they know it, too. No one wants to be the first person you fool with a Life Model Decoy, and you can't tell me you'd never be tempted."

Tony snorts at that. "I plead the fifth," he says. "But even a cardboard cutout embedded with a recorder would contribute as much as I do to most of these meetings."

"A cardboard cutout wouldn't be able to sign your paperwork, virtually or otherwise," she replies, rolling her eyes at him. "But you're mostly here to shore up your stock and your image with the company, and you know it. You're also dodging the question, which was pretty much my whole point. I get the airhead thing. Believe me, I do. But doesn't it ever bother you that so many people take it at face value?"

He cuts a sidewise look at her before turning back to the window, expression shifting subtly. There's a darkness lurking in the curl at the corner of his mouth now, a hint of a shadow that speaks to a familiar bleakness that's haunted her for years. 

She doesn't plan on giving him the full story today. But if she's going to stay here much longer, she has to tell Tony _something_. Otherwise, he'll never forgive her when the secret finally comes out. And it will. They've been lucky the Chitauri scared the demons out of the city for awhile.

"I know I got started a little late in the intervention game," he replies, derisively. "But image management? I've been doing that since I could speak in complete sentences. You think I do anything without considering what other people will think? I just don't actually _care_ most of the time."

"Or you _do_ care, you just reject them first before they can return the favor," she parries. "Hurts less that way, doesn't it?"

Tony's attention snaps back to her face, sharply incisive, the way it probably looks when he's inside the armor. "Where did Fury even _find_ you?" he asks, frowning. "I know you've had training; I've seen you sparring with the Deadly Duo, and there's no way an ordinary school counselor could have made that shot with the paint bomb, no matter how much time you spend in the gym."

Buffy's fully aware that with the Slayer stuff taken out, her real résumé does _not_ look all that impressive. There's no way he hasn't come to a few conclusions about that, but apparently he wants her to spell it out herself. "Enhance your calm, Mr. Stark," she says, lightly. "As far as SHIELD's concerned, I'm just a Cali girl with a few sparkly talents. He might have pointed me your way, but I'm not now, never have been, and never will be one of Fury's agents."

"And _that's_ supposed to inspire joy-joy feelings?" he retorts in kind, raising his eyebrows. He's had his scruff up like a wary cat since her first day in the office, probably expecting her to turn SHIELD colors one day like Natasha. "If you're not on their leash, who _do_ you answer to? And don't insult me by denying it. You have a blacked out military file, and there aren't many ways a girl goes from _that_ to standing here in a designer suit and three inch heels."

"Four," she demurs automatically; as serious as the conversation is, she can't resist correcting him. "On Ms. Potts' recommendation."

Tony glances down, visibly measuring her height; probably just now realizing she deliberately dresses tall enough to look him in the eye. "And just how _did_ you get Pepper in your court, anyway?" he asks, pressing his lips together.

He could be pushing harder. But Buffy feels the line being drawn, regardless. Pepper or no Pepper, whether he likes her or not: either she tells Tony the truth, or she gives her two week notice.

She sighs. "Fury gave her my full qualifications; and she knows I only answer to two people other than you. Me, and her. I have a blacked out file because my ex worked for an Army project that experimented on certain kinds of people, and they weren't exactly asking permission. I _might_ have got involved in the cleanup. Sound familiar?"

He flinches at that; he's picked up on the rest of what she isn't saying without having to ask. Even if he hasn't heard of Slayers, he has dealt with mutants, and she's heard enough about his own experiences to know he can identify with the rest.

"Ongoing?" he asks, shrewdly.

She shrugs, glancing up at the lens of the room's security camera. "Ask me sometime when I'm off the clock, and I might feel up to sharing details."

His eyes glitter with speculation, and she knows JARVIS will be getting a workout. Good luck to him; even an AI is going to find it hard to trump Willow's security. It's enough of an answer to settle Tony's nerves, though, as she'd thought it might. "Well, you've certainly kept _that_ quiet. How long did it take Fury to offer _you_ a consultancy?"

"A decade or so?" Has it really been that long since the Initiative folded? "I had other things to finish, first."

He blinks. "And exactly _how_ old were you when this Army thing went sideways?"

"Why, Mr. Stark, don't you know it's bad manners to ask a lady her age?" 

His expression contorts; then he settles with a rueful laugh, jingling something in one of his pockets. She welcomes the fidgeting; it's more like normal Tony, and that means he's not going to fire her after all. 

"To answer your question, then-- it's a tool, like everything else. I'm only 'on' when I have to be; people say things in front of Playboy Stark that they never would Iron Man or Tony the Engineer." He snorts. "I am who I need to be _when_ I need to be, so I can do what has to be done. So it's not a question of getting 'tired' of anything. It is what it is."

"And that's why I'm here," she replies, simply.

Part of it, at least. She thinks of biceps and a bow, and other questions that haven't been asked yet, even of herself. But if Fury called up now and asked her to choose between SI and SHIELD....

It makes her brain hurt to think about plotting those kinds of checks and balances for _her_ organization so far in advance. Old One-Eye's a bastard, all right, but she can't fault his reasoning.

Maybe it's time she asked Tony for an assistant of her own? Dawn would _die_. And it would free Buffy up for more of the ISWC duties she's been avoiding lately.

Tony smiles at her, wry and acknowledging. "Noted. Will that be all, then, Ms. Summers?"

She nods back, pulling her professional demeanor back into place. "That's all for now, Mr. Stark." 


	3. A Very Special Consultant

They're about to head out in the Quinjet-- to Ohio this time, and what kind of villain sets up in Cleveland?-- when Hill calls to tell the Avengers they're not to leave until they've collected a 'special consultant'. Clint eyes Natasha speculatively, meeting her gaze from pilot's seat to copilot's, wondering at the faint wry note marring Hill's professional tone. Natasha raises an eyebrow back: no comment, but she's obviously thinking the same thing.

Clint's hearing isn't as sharp as his vision, but even so, he recognizes the stride before their guest even comes within visual range, proving him right. Firm heelstrikes, lightweight but placed with determined grace, the footfalls of a woman with the proprioceptive reflexes of a cat: one who always knows exactly where she is and where she's going. It's pretty distinctive, and a strange talent for someone who's supposed to be a personal assistant... unless that person happens to be Natalia Romanova.

Buffy Summers isn't the Black Widow, but she's _something_ , that's for sure. Clint knows that Fury's the one who'd passed her résumé to Stark's girlfriend, and that she has a nonstandard relationship with the agency, but what exactly that relationship _is_ has never been explained to Clint's satisfaction. Fury's asked him to report regularly on any encounters with the woman but never has told him why, supposedly on the theory that it might prejudice his observations. Regardless, Clint recognizes a veteran when he sees one.

Summers moves like a seasoned warrior-- one used to fighting with hand to hand weapons, who values speed and strength over stealth. She never reaches for a missing holster on those few occasions someone manages to sneak up on her; instead, she settles into a martial arts stance, hand sometimes curled as though around the hilt of a knife. He's sparred with her a few times, and so has Natasha, and when she forgets and enjoys herself she has a punch like a mule kick. Not to mention, she has a thousand yard stare to rival any of the Avengers, a pretty fucked up bunch if Clint says so himself. 

She may camouflage herself in bland-toned professional wear and mangle the English language worse than Stark on a caffeine rush when she's excited, but he has no doubt that Summers is just as deadly as Natasha in the dark.

There are a few _other_ things he'd like to explore with her in the dark, too, but he barely knows the woman, and Natasha's eyebrows are eloquent enough as it is about the way his eyes tend to follow her when they're in the same room. Like now: she's dressed in a black outfit a lot like one of Natasha's Black Widow suits with a logo on the front of a red and silver axe, outlining firm, slender curves that he'd love to put his hands on. She's shorter today than usual without the extra four inches' worth of designer heels, but she makes up for that with the fire in her green eyes and the command presence radiating from her diminutive frame. She's no one's assistant in that getup. Too bad Stark isn't there; Clint would love to see the expression on his face.

"Ms. Summers," Rogers is the first to greet her, looking surprised.

"Captain." She smiles back. "Fury brief you guys?"

"Not a word," Clint calls back to her as he keys the sequence to get them moving. "Guess he wants you to fill us in. I take it we're going to be on your turf on this one?"

She smiles at him: a sharp, feral expression he's only seen on her in person once before, that time she caught him and Stark messing around with the paint arrows and demonstrated a frankly amazing throwing arm. He's seen it on surveillance footage too, though; it's the look she gives assholes with wandering hands right before she dislocates their thumbs.

"Are you ever," she says, taking a seat and buckling in as Clint turns his full attention on the controls and prepares them for takeoff. "I don't suppose any of you have heard of a Hellmouth?"

Clint hasn't, but when he throws a sidewise glance at Natasha he catches an expression of intense interest on her face, and Banner nods behind her.

"When I was in Tibet I met a young man who talked about them-- some kind of upswell of radiation capable of disrupting the behavior of an entire town?"

"Something like that... hey, I don't suppose his name was Oz?" Summers asks, curiously.

"If your Oz is a short guy with experimental hair..."

"...and too Zen to be real? Yeah, that's him," she sighs. "Wow. God, I miss him sometimes. But I don't blame him for getting out while the getting was good. Things got a lot worse before we lost Sunnydale-- I don't want to see Cleveland go the same way."

"You're from Sunnydale?" Natasha interrupts, her voice gone flat and controlled.

"Yeah. I take it you've heard of it?" Summers says.

Natasha purses her lips and gives a slight nod, not volunteering anything else.

When she clams up like that, Clint knows not to press, and apparently so does Summers after months of trailing after Stark and the occasional all girl's lunch with Ms. Potts. "Well, at least you're not _all_ going into this blind, then," she says. "Stark, you on comms?"

"Five by five, Queen Bee," Iron Man inexplicably replies.

"Oh, you are _so_ not calling me that at SI," she fires back, "and I'm kicking Faith's ass next time I see her. She was just supposed to go over what she knows about that law firm Hammer had on retainer."

"Don't worry; I'll behave," Stark says, glibly. "But c'mon. It's not every day a guy gets to hunt _vampires_ in a flying suit of armor alongside a real life Wonder Woman."

"Thor's friend Sif fits that description better than I do," Summers scoffs. "Want I should have Clint turn this jet around and fetch her?"

Clint, is he? He smirks at the thought.

"Ah, no; that's all right, Ms. Summers. You were saying?" Stark replies.

She rolls her eyes, then settles down and starts filling in the gaps. Demons, portals, and Old Ones-- things Clint would never have believed before Thor, Loki, and the Tesseract. Things he can hardly believe a little thing like her could take care of. Except when he watches her move; when he sees the look in her eyes; when he hears the flatness in her voice, too much like Natasha's.

"Slayer, though? _Seriously?_ " is all he says, when she finally finishes.

"Slayer, Comma, The," she replies, owning it with a wry smile. "Got a problem with that?"

Him? The one who brought the Black Widow to SHIELD? Clint lets his return eyebrow say.

Actually, he kind of wants to see if she can draw his bow, now; he's pretty sure that would be the hottest thing he's ever seen. But getting to know her better will have to wait, unfortunately; saving the world from bloodthirsty demons sort of takes precedence.

"Ma'am, no ma'am," he denies over the sound of Stark's laughter, and starts making plans for later.


	4. Spelling It Out In Small Words

Buffy hides a smile behind her hand, trying not to laugh at the flabbergasted look on Tony's face.

"Really," she says brightly, once she's sure she's got her own expression under control. " _This_ is what breaks your brain? After snarking your way through the 'not just your PA' talk, and Faith going behind my back to give you the 'World is Older Than You Know' speech, _and_ fighting that tentacula thingy in Cleveland, you go Blue Screen of Death on me over a little dusting?"

He blinks, and the wide eyes and stunned expression give way to a melodramatically offended look. "A little _dusting_?" he objects, gesturing at the pile of grayish particles on the sidewalk. "You just folded, spindled, and mutilated the laws of physics right in front of me!"

"Yeah, and...?" She can't quite keep the laughter in this time. "I _know_ you've been having JARVIS keep track of what I can do since I stopped trying to keep a lid on it all the time. What, do you seriously think I get my powers from little nano-thingies in my muscles or a serum like Steve? Or that Big, Blue and Slimy last week was actually using electrical force shields, just hiding the tech where you couldn't see it? You've worked with mutants. And you remember Loki, right? Not to mention your teammate, the God of Thunder?"

"I know you might have missed this part, seeing as how Fury didn't have you in his pocket at the time, but Thor and Family aren't actually _gods_ ," he says, spine straightening as he flails for mental purchase. Buffy gets that, but she hopes he gets over it quick; she's never enjoyed verbal slapfights. "They're _aliens_ ," he emphasizes. "And that means...."

"Clutch Clarke's Third Law to your outraged bosom all you like," she raises an eyebrow at him, "and yes, I actually do know what that means; I've known a nerd or two in my day. Did you think Faith was exaggerating? Trust me, she wasn't. Vampires are _demons_. Dee Eee Emm Ohh Enn Ess. Do you seriously think _this_ ," she waves Mr. Pointy in his face, "is actually strong enough to punch through ribs? No; what matters is that it's _carved out of wood_. Its sole function is to disrupt the _magic_ , Emm Ayy Gee Eye Cee, that keeps an undead body _un_ dead instead of rotting in the ground."

"But why?" he objects, snatching the stake out of her hand and staring at it in frustrated bafflement. "Even the wildest mutations have rules and restrictions. Magic doesn't! Case in point: what makes wood so special? Do you treat it with anything? How does it catalyze a complete disintegration, if it's just one bunch of dead organic cells piercing another? Is there some kind of miniaturized accelerated entropy field involved? But if so, why did your stake survive, and not his clothes? And speaking of JARVIS' observations, how can you possibly expend the kind of energy you do all the time without lighting up his infrared like a bonfire?"

She cuts him off before he can drag the conversation too far off track. "Just because magic's not rational doesn't mean it doesn't have its own logic; you just don't know what it is," she says, ticking the points off on her fingers. "I don't remember why wood's so important, except that it's a symbol of something; magic's usually all tied up in symbols and meaning, you'd have to ask my friend Willow for the deets. No; it's just a piece of dead tree. If you can figure out a way to put a sensor on a vampire while it's going poof without losing the sensor too, knock yourself out. No idea; I just work here. And I'd guess it's something to do with the Slayer healing factor, but your guess is as good as mine on that one, too."

He stares at her in horror as she grabs the stake back out of his hand and tucks it into her waistband. "You _just work here_? My God, woman, if I was that incurious, I'd be dead now," he says, tapping a thumb against the glowing triangle shining through his grease-stained tee shirt.

"Been there, done that," she rolls her eyes. "But that's why you're you and I'm me. And speaking of your little nightlight, how many people would call _that_ magic?"

"It's not the same thing at all!" he says. "There are _natural laws_...."

"Like I said, talk to Wills," she smirks, then crouches and vaults straight over him, kicking off his shoulder as he stumbles backward to gain extra height. When she comes down again, she has Mr. Pointy in her hand once more, and the vamp sneaking up on her boss gapes like a fish as she strikes down on him like a bolt of lightning. He crumbles into dust, leaving an earthy smell behind; it had been pretty plain he was brand new, which is why she'd felt free to indulge in a little show.

"You make great bait, by the way," she adds, nonchalantly. "It usually takes me a lot longer to track down a bloodsucker, these days; I think they're getting suspicious of the blonde act."

Tony's spluttering, brushing at the shoe print on his shirt, but calculations are visibly ticking over behind his brown-eyed gaze now that the shock is wearing off, and she'll bet anything he'll put JARVIS on a new project as soon as he gets back to the Tower. "And why am I the one playing bait, again? Isn't your boyfriend a little more familiar with low-tech weaponry?"

"Because you asked," she reminds him, tartly. "And because I told Clint he can't play until he switches out some of his neat-o composite shafts for old-fashioned wooden arrows. Not that he's actually my _boyfriend_. If you call him that where he can hear and scare him off..." She shakes a finger at him, trying to come up with a sufficiently evil threat; working for a superhero with something like twice her IQ means she has to be especially creative. "I'll reschedule all the next quarter's quality control inspections to the same week-- and tell Pepper you're having a time out."

He shudders theatrically. "Now that _is_ evil. But if you put it off too long, _I'll_ tell Pepper, and you know what _she'll_ do. She likes Barton; if I start hinting that you need a little help matchmaking...."

Buffy wrinkles her nose, laughing. "All right, all right, truce. C'mon, we've still got a ways to go before we run into the territory of that guy with the horns on his costume. And then I'm sending you home to Pepper; you've got that meeting with Faith and the Wolfram and Hart guys she was supposed to be briefing you on first thing in the morning."

He groans at the reminder, but seems oddly less foot-draggy than she'd have expected; she'll have to grill her sister Slayer soon about just what she's said to him. "Remind me to ask Barton about the arrows, later," he adds. "I'll bet he does his own fletching, and I want to see his process."

"Meddle with it, you mean," she replies, but makes the mental note.

Now all she has to do is talk Tony into hiring a non-Slayer ISWC alumna to back her up. She has a feeling Fury will be calling on their agreement a little more often now that vamp traffic is picking back up and she's broken the alternate identity thing to the other Avengers. 

Buffy doesn't mind, though. What other job would let her have her cake and eat it, too? 

She smiles to herself as she spots another vampire, and drops back behind her boss to await the perfect moment to pounce.


	5. Confounding Expectations

Watching Buffy manage Tony Stark is hilarious. Faith would never have believed it if anyone had told her that the other Slayer, raised to pay attention to things like wealth and station, would treat a billionaire superhero as if he were her little sister-- but she _definitely_ learned what executive skills she has trying to mother Dawnie. And the kicker is, Stark _takes_ it. He's almost twice B's age, he's richer and more powerful than the Mayor ever was, he runs around privatizing world peace in a flying tin can because he can, and he _grins_ when his PA gives him that purse-lipped disapproving look and all but threatens to ground him for showing up five minutes late.

And B's enjoying it all just as much; Faith can tell by the sparkle in her eye. She remembers that look from the bad old days, back when she was new in the 'Dale and intent on showing her forerunner how to have fun with their calling. B had been fighting it then, but she'd been just as susceptible to the lure of adrenaline and hormones as any red-blooded woman, and before they'd split over the Deputy Mayor's death they'd had some good times together. It's nice to see B enjoying life again-- even if it isn't her _boss_ she's enjoying.

Ah, well; her loss. Faith shifts her stance a little as Stark enters the room, making sure her assets are on best display in her leather pants and clingy top. He might be a little long in the tooth for her, and she has no doubt the boss lady in the crisp suit and Queen C heels didn't win that sparkly ring she's wearing by being a pushover, but that doesn't mean Faith can't flirt a little. He's taken, not dead-- and clearly knows he's got the looks and presence to match his bank account. She can see by the smirk as he extends his hand to shake that he feels much the same way, and that just makes it even better.

"Coming back for more?" he gets the first jab in, as they settle into chairs for their pre-meeting meeting. "Heard you were the one and done type."

Faith would call it a _briefing_ , but she already made that joke two days ago, when she detoured through the Vampires are Real speech on her way to explaining just how she's acquainted with the unsavory business practices of Wolfram and Hart. Today's more like arming themselves for battle-- especially given who'll be on the negotiating team. 

"Could say the same about you, tin man," she replies. From anyone else, Faith might've taken that as a slam, but what she's seen of him so far, it's more like looking in a mirror. God knows why B told him, but from his attitude, she doesn't think he's aiming to use it against her; it's more like he saved it up to lighten the mood before they get down to the nitty gritty. "You ought to know better than to believe everything you hear," she throws back at him with a grin.

"Especially coming from such a prejudiced source," Stark sniffs, throwing a bland look up at B as she plunks a coffee cup down in front of him. "A less _straight-shooting_ person might dismiss those sorts of comments as rank jealousy."

B's lips thin a little, but there's a light flush on her cheeks-- whatever that's about. The Chosen Two have barely had time to so much as exchange a hug since Faith flew in three days ago, what with both their busy schedules; she'll have to make time to grill B before she's gotta leave again.

"And a less _controlled_ person might suggest someone conduct a _quality inspection_ of her boss' eardrums," B replies tartly, placing an extra coffee and a pastry in front of Faith. "Since he seems to have conveniently forgotten the _context_ of what he was told."

Stark raises his eyebrows, adopting a ruffled expression that reminds Faith of nothing so much as an affronted cat. No guy his age, rocking an Evil Spock goatee and a suit that probably cost more than any house she's ever lived in, should be able to pull off that look, but on him? Well, like the man says, he's Tony Fucking Stark. "What? She knows I didn't mean anything negative by it. Right?" He glances at Faith, double-checking her expression then nods. "She knows that. And she should know you didn't mean anything by telling me either-- I thought you guys were BFFs?"

The look B shoots her at that is-- complicated; a little defensive, a little apologetic, who the hell knows what else. Faith's feeling a little-- complicated herself; it's one thing for Buffy to _say_ the hatchet is well and truly buried, another entirely to find out she's been giving heroic third parties the impression they're two peas in a white hat pod. "It comes and goes," she shrugs nonchalantly, with a nod to B; let Stark make of that what he will. 

"That, too?" he replies lightly, glancing curiously between them. Then he claps his hands together. "Context, then, just to clarify: not that I was _bothered_ by it or anything, but Miz Summers felt the need to inform me that Christine Everhart's article about Pepper and I was full of shit, because she had in fact seen someone successfully transition from, shall we call it extremely short-term serial monogamy? To a more committed, long-term sort of relationship and make it stick."

"Not that you were bothered," Faith smirks at him.

"No, not at all," he tips his chin up. "And can I just say that I find it _absolutely hysterical_ , knowing what I know now, that a bona fide superheroess is dating a man named after the Boy Wonder? Is he your sidekick? _Please_ tell me he's your sidekick."

Faith is startled into a laugh as he gives her a wide-eyed look of appeal. "Don't ever tell him I said so-- but I told you about Watchers, right? So, yeah, he's my Watcher."

"That is _fantastic_ ," he says, grinning at her in unfeigned delight.

B makes a stifled, choking noise; her eyes are sparkling again when Faith looks up to raise her eyebrows at her. "Uh, don't mind me. Remember, Natasha and the Stark legal team will be here in twenty; the Wolfram and Hart group is supposed to arrive in an hour fifty, but I'd bet on them being early. Try not to let anyone sign their souls away while they're here, okay?"

"You mean that's not just a cliché?" Stark acts all disbelieving, but he's still grinning as Buffy rolls her eyes at him and stalks away.

Faith waits until the door shuts behind her, then leans forward, propping her elbows on the table. She'll finish going over what she knows about Lilah Morgan and her team in a minute, the odds of getting Vanko's arc reactor designs away from Hammer Industries (slim) without Wolfram and Hart making their own copies to sell to other-dimensional powers (slimmer), and the secondary objective she hopes to get a bead on in the meeting: Wes' contract. But she has a more important question to ask, first.

"So I hear she took you out on the town, last night. Popped your Slayage cherry. How'd it go?" she asks, waggling her eyebrows. "Was it everything you expected?"

"Was it everything I...?" Stark straightens in his chair, expression all over the place, like he can't decide whether to be more outraged or gleeful. "You know, I was a one man _nuclear deterrent_ before aliens decided to crash our party," he continues, in a marveling tone. "And less than a year later I've been reduced to the status of _vaulting horse_ while my not so mild mannered assistant defies the laws of physics right in front of me."

"Now _that's_ fantastic," Faith replies, laughing at him. "Tell me you got a picture."

"God, I hope not; Pepper would kill me if the paparazzi found us," Stark shakes his head. "Figuring out the rules of this are going to give me headaches for _weeks_ , you realize. Are there any manuals I can read? Informative pamphlets? Something I wouldn't find in the fantasy section of a Barnes and Noble?"

If he thinks _vampires_ are bad, he ain't seen nothin' yet. "Talk to Little D, when she gets here. She'll be keeping Buffy's library, and if she doesn't have the reference you want, Red will-- Willow Rosenberg," she adds for clarification.

Stark narrows his eyes at her. "This Willow had better live up to her billing," he says. "You're not the first person to recommend her as a resource."

"Trust me, she will," Faith shakes her head. That meeting... is something she'd love to be a fly on the wall for. "In the meantime, though. Before your guys get here. There's something you should know about Lilah, and the guy who was my Watcher before Robin...."


	6. Keeping Her On Her Toes

Buffy strolls slowly down a grass-lined path, listening to the mundane nighttime sounds around her with dissatisfaction. She hadn't been trying to flatter Tony when she'd told him he made great bait; the few vampires and demons to return to the city since the Chitauri invasion really do seem wise to the presence of a resident Slayer. No doubt when things have fully settled again there'll be plenty of dumb cannon fodder to Slay, but there's a definite mind behind the first groups back in. They're being careful to stay under the radar of the local heroes, too. That bothers her; smart vamps always mean trouble for her, one way or another.

A faint rustle somewhere above and behind her alerts her to the presence of a stalker, and she feels the corners of her mouth tug up in a grin. _Finally_. It's been a boring night; the near edge of the park is more than a dozen blocks from the Tower, and after even detouring by a couple of the local mega churches, she hasn't sensed even a whiff of supernatural danger. Then again, there _has_ been more than one Slayer in Manhattan the last few days. If the bad guys know to scatter from a petite blonde, maybe they've been stalking the curvy brunette instead? She'll have to ask Faith when they finally meet up for lunch tomorrow.

She surreptitiously retrieves Mr. Pointy from his hiding spot, palming the uniquely shaped stake, and waits for her attacker to pounce. It had sounded as though he, or she, was in the nearest trees to her left; if they'd moved immediately, that would make their position--

Buffy lifts the stake, bracing to turn, her foot on the edge of the path... just as two inches past her toes, an arrow sprouts from the turf. The shaft quivers from the speed of its flight and the force of its impact, and its dark purple fletching is as good as a flag. It's a little heftier than the ones she's seen before, and definitely wood; the back end of the arrow has a nock, but it's carved into the arrow, not a plastic insert, with sharp points on either side of the notch. She can only guess they're in case the arrow gets repurposed as a stabbing weapon; she's seen Clint do that more than once, though with the arrowhead, not the reverse.

"Very funny, Barton," she says, glancing unerringly toward the SHIELD agent's perch.

" _I_ thought so," he grins back, dropping to the earth beneath his perch. "You _did_ say I could come along once I found some wooden arrows."

"As I see," she says dryly, irritation fading in the face of her genuine pleasure at his presence. "That didn't take you very long."

"Would have taken longer if I'd waited for Stark to finish with the holy water and silver nitrate arrowheads, but I figured I could always come back for those," he shrugs. Then he saunters over, stooping to retrieve the arrow and slip it back in the quiver.

Buffy has no doubt that the chance to check her out at close range is at least half the reason he'd aimed so near her feet; but as it just so happens to give _her_ an equivalent opportunity, she obligingly stands her ground. Her stomach does a flip at the sight of him crouching in front of her-- and it's hard to miss the way his gaze lingers as he stands back up, tracing every line of her body.

Her breath hitches a little; even without the influence of adrenaline, he's pretty distracting. _And_ distractingly pretty. Why did the sole romantically available Avenger have to be so pretty?

"Give him a week, he'll probably have rocket propelled stakes in production," she says, rolling her eyes as she drags her mind back out of the gutter. "We might have to set a trap to get best use from your bow, but there's like nine thousand benches and more than twice that many trees, so there should be plenty of time after we locate a target."

Clint chuckles, the sound sending a shiver along her nerves. "You get those statistics from JARVIS? There's a few dozen bridges and arches, too, twenty one playgrounds, and seven bodies of water. It's a big place. Not as many unexplained deaths as you might think, though. Got any ideas where would be the best place to start?"

"More like _when_ ; the park's supposed to close at one, right? There'll be less prey around after that, but fewer witnesses too, and they've been pretty cautious lately. I've patrolled most of the blocks around the tower several times, and the most I ever found in one night was when I took Tony along as bait. And I'm afraid as tasty as you are... " she eyes him again, smirking, "...you just don't look the part."

Even in jeans and hoodie rather than his sleeveless Hawkeye uniform, the breadth of his shoulders and the quiver slung over his back are a little much to overlook. This isn't Sunnydale, land of ostriches and gangs on PCP, after all.

He smirks back, changing the subject. "The park officials know you're here?"

"I'm not doing my job if the mundane authorities know I'm coming," Buffy shrugs. "You would not _believe_ how many demons work in civil service-- or get their bribe on."

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea," Clint replies. 

"Worried?"

There's a hint of bitterness in the curve of his smile, now; sometimes she forgets he's been a soldier and spy longer than she's been the Slayer. But it fades again as he paces along at her side, bow held casually in one hand. "Nah; _I_ wouldn't be doing my job right if I got caught. Just curious."

"Uh huh," she says, feeling that swoop in her stomach again. "So how fast do you run? Just curious."

"That depends," he replies, meeting her gaze with sparkling eyes. "How far am I going to have to give chase?"

Her face warms briefly at the hint. "Ask me again after we're done?"

"I'll hold you to that," he says, brightly. Then he cocks his chin toward one of the upcoming crosspaths, smile fading as he glances down its length. "Hmm. This way?"

Buffy pauses, ignoring the tinglies produced by Clint's presence to focus on any _other_ tinglies that might be moving near them. "...Maybe?" She isn't sure, but it feels... spookier than the other direction.

"Maybe's good enough," he decides.

Fun and games later, then. For now, it's time to hunt.


	7. Intersection of Wildly Divergent Sets

Buffy stares down at the lower two thirds of her boss, tapping the pointy toe of her shoe on the floor of the garage and eyeing its proximity to certain sensitive body parts. "....So if I can interrupt your love affair with Steve's motorcycle for a minute and get your thumbprint, that would _really_ be great," she says, dryly.

"I don't know that I'd call it a love affair," Tony replies, indistinctly. "Maybe a fling? A vacation romance? A recurrent one-night stand? I've actually spent more time with Barton's quiver, you know."

"Yes, and...?" she comments, dryly. "New arrows one week, stretchy pants for the Hulk the next, upgraded bracelets for Natasha... I'd ask what you have in mind for Thor next, except, well. Norse god of thunder, kinda not so much with the needing new equipment. Doesn't your suit get jealous?"

"What's to be jealous of? My suit and I are one, or didn't you get that memo?" he snarks back.

Something goes _tink!_ under the body of the machine, then _clang_ , and she catches a glimpse of bared arm reaching up to rub the back of a hand over his forehead. She usually leaves him alone when he's tinkering, especially with the other Avengers' gear; the hierarchy of those delegated to dig him out of his obsessive phases usually goes in order from AI to fiancée to Science BFF to team captain, and from there on through the rest of the Avengers, Rhodey if he's in the city, and Jane Foster or Betty Ross on the rare occasions they're in the Tower when their honeys aren't in residence, before it ever gets to her. His _personal_ life isn't her responsibility, thank God; she doesn't know how Pepper ever managed to juggle both. But this is a business thing, and he's been dodging it since the Wolfram and Hart attorneys left.

"I did, actually," she replies with a snort. "Pepper made sure I saw a lot of your press footage before she hired me. Though just so you know. That thing you said at the Expo, about how 'from the ashes of captivity, never has a greater phoenix metaphor been personified in human history'?" She pronounces the words in the same overly dramatic tones he'd used that day.

He goes still under the bike, then shifts sideways enough for her to see one intense brown eye, a swath of grease-smeared forehead, and a tuft of dark hair. "Wait, _what_?" he says, in half-disbelieving, half-marveling tones. "Do you mean you, or...? Because seriously, it's not fair to taunt me with that."

" _Masculine_ history, _maybe_ ," she elaborates, looking down her nose at him.

"That's not fair," he complains. "That thing you're doing? Did Pepper teach it to you, or is it something that came naturally?"

She waggles the clipboard at that visible eye, implacable. "Thumbprint first. Story after."

The scowl returns, though he looks like he's considering it. "I hate magic," he says.

She'd kinda thought that was his problem. The fact that Faith is probably going to get her dead 'handler' back through a legal-magical loophole Tony can't use to restore his own is really upsetting him. Not that that's stopped him from wanting to talk to Willow about engineering applications. "That's not a nooooo," she sing-songs, trying to tease him out of it.

But before he can move-- either way-- the sound of the stairwell door opening interrupts, and they both glance over to see who else has braved the engineer's den.

For half a second, Buffy thinks the newcomer is Bruce, from the style of shirt and the dark floppy hair; but there are no silver threads through _these_ tousled locks, and he's at least a couple of inches too tall. Then he turns his face toward her, and she smiles in even more delighted recognition.

"Buffy!" Xander crows, smiling widely back and approaching with open arms. "Bufferina! The Buffster! Queen of all she surveys! How's the Big Apple treating you?"

She drops the clipboard on the nearest car's hood and bolts toward him, catching him up in a tight hug. "Xander! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Scotland!"

"Oof! Breathing, much?" he gasps, then chuckles as she loosens her grip. "Actually, I heard all of the significant women in my life were one by one disappearing into the belly of this high-tech beast, and thought I should scope the place out for maiden-eating dragons or new Hellmouths or billowy coat types before the problem grew any worse."

"Nope, none here, and too many to count, though the type of coat varies," Tony interrupts them, slithering out from under the motorcycle at last. "Isn't that a heroic prerequisite?"

He's wearing one of his old rock band tee shirts, the arc reactor clearly visible under the thin dark fabric, and a pair of worn designer jeans; normally she might have despaired of him turning up in that sort of outfit for an important meeting, but with the Scoobies? This is probably actually the best case scenario. He sticks out a hand as he approaches, narrowing his eyes at Xander; and this moment is one of the very few instances she's ever wished she could have kept that demon-aspect telepathy.

"Point," Xander says, looking amused as he sticks a hand out in return.

"Tony Stark," her boss says next, not bothering to wait for her introduce him. "Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, Iron Man. And you are?"

"Xander Harris," her friend replies, as calmly as though Tony hasn't just waved the flag of testosterone in his face. "Watcher, Comfortador, and BFF of long standing. So you know I speak from experience when I say, you might as well give in. It'll be a lot less painful in the long run."

Buffy notices he doesn't say for whom, and rolls her eyes at him.

Tony looks startled for half a second; then he glances toward her, over to the clipboard, and back to Xander. "Not _another_ one," he groans. "What did I ever do to deserve _multiple_ one-eyed, all-seeing men in my life?"

"You really want the list?" she grins. "Thumbprint? Pretty please?"

He gives her a mock scowl, but sighs and reaches for the high-tech clipboard.

"Speaking of the women in your life," Buffy says while Tony's distracted with the document, "I notice a distinct lack of Willow. What's the what?"

Xander winces, then glances over his shoulder toward the stairwell. "Yeah, about that," he says.

"...security in this place is amazing," a faint voice carries through the not quite closed door, "there has to be at least a Turing-capable AI running the systems, did I mention I have some experience with computer security? I'd love to talk to him. It? She? Anyway, I know that's not why Buffy asked me to come, but the labs here are like Disneyland, I've never seen some of the equipment on the robotics floor before, and I'm hoping I get the chance to talk with Mr. Stark while I'm here. There was this project I worked on in High School...."

Buffy's eyes widen as the flow of one-sided chatter continues, and she throws an alarmed look at Xander. "You gave her _caffeine_?" she says, horrified. "Today?"

"It was either that, or watch her doze off into her Cheerios," Xander shrugs. "I don't think she slept a wink last night. Visions of science labs dancing in her head. You pretty much made her week, you know. Month. Maybe even year."

Tony hands her back the clipboard, slightly greasy thumbprint applied, and cocks his head as Willow's voice grows louder. "Is that...?"

"My other BFF, platonic love of my life, most brilliant person I know? Yep," Xander snarks. "One magic consultant, coming right up."

"...what they say about sufficient advancement, right? The two actually go together better than you'd-- Buffy!" The red-head emerges from the stairwell at last, trailing a rather shell-shocked looking security guard. Buffy makes a mental note to put a bonus in the guy's file later; Scoobies are a level of hazard the Tower's staff really isn't prepared for, Avengers in residence or no.

She indulges in some babble of her own as Willow embraces her. "Willow! It's good to see you. It's been months since I've seen anyone from home, and here you all are at once! How was the trip? Did you get Dawn settled in the apartment?"

"Good to see you too! Giles said we weren't supposed to bug you except for apocalypses unless you said otherwise, actually; I was so excited when you called, 'cause I've been _dying_ to get my hands on some StarkTech. Not that I'd, you know, ask for any, but you have access to things here that aren't on the market yet, and...."

"Breathe, Wills," Buffy chuckles, letting go of her. "Dawnie?"

"Don't worry, she's fine. Some guy in a SHIELD uniform showed up as we got there, I think he's helping her unpack. But look at you!" She checks Buffy over, from heels to updone hair. "I just couldn't believe you'd agreed to become some guy's _secretary_ , even Tony Stark's, but I can see it now. I bet you rule the rest of the staff with an iron heel."

"They look upon me and despair," Buffy quotes, grinning at her.

Willow giggles. Then she blinks, startled, as she finally notices the fourth person in the room. "Oh! Mr. Stark! Buffy, why didn't you tell me I was babbling in front of him? Willow Rosenberg," she says.

Her boss fortunately seems amused at having been treated like furniture for the last few minutes; he accepts the shake with a very dry, "Charmed." But then he frowns, scrutinizing her friend's face. "Rosenberg, Rosenberg. Have I met you before?"

Willow raises her eyebrows, a little taken aback. "Uh, no? Not that I know of."

"I think I'd remember freckles like that, particularly in combination with that skin and red hair; I freely admit to a certain weakness for the combination," he says, almost abstractly.

Oops. Buffy almost chokes as Willow yanks her hand out of Tony's grasp; she really _had_ meant to warn him. And Willow's not the type to tease back, unlike Faith.

"Whoever you're thinking of, it isn't me," Willow replies, flushing bright red. "Sorry. Lesbian. Really, seriously gay. So unless you've been secretly shapeshifting into my girlfriend, in which case I don't know why you'd even need a magic consultant, and ew, I think I need brain bleach now...."

"What?" Tony blinks, his thought process clearly derailed. "That's not what I... interesting thought, though; is that an actual thing? I wonder if Loki...." Then he shakes his head sharply and drags himself back on track. "Never mind. Stick a pin in that; I bet Thor has some interesting stories. But you went to Sunnydale High, right? Career fair? Did someone approach you from Stark Industries?"

Willow blushes again. "Oh! Uh, yeah, actually. I think?"

Tony snaps his fingers and points at her. "That Rosenberg. I should have guessed. I was actually pretty disappointed that you didn't take us up on our internship offer; we're always on the lookout for fresh minds with your level of creative intellect. But if you were fighting vampires with my sharp-tongued assistant, I suppose I can give you a pass. I don't suppose you're also the W. Rosenberg who's been publishing papers about P-dimensional subspace with F. Burkle of late?" 

He doesn't wait for an answer to that; instead, he turns abruptly back to the motorcycle, crouching down to reach beneath it, and comes back up with one of his transparent-looking touch computer tablets. Then he taps a few icons on the surface and spreads his fingers over the screen to pull something up. Willow watches it all in curious fascination, her guard relaxing a little.

"The math is compelling, though I think there are a few areas that could use some more work," Tony continues, intently. "Is she in New York with you? I'd love to discuss your theories, particularly in the light of Dr. Foster's work with the Bifrost."

"You _would_?" Willow brightens still further. "I mean, yes; I mean, I'll have to call Ill-- Fred first, and I know I'm actually supposed to be here as a magic consultant, but my first teacher was a technopagan, and the explanations actually go better if I can illustrate with principles of...."

Buffy can feel her eyes starting to glaze over as the Willow babble resumes, this time punctuated by tablet-waving Tony blather. They're likely to be at it for hours at this rate; she's going to have to warn Pepper that Willow's not to be counted on to bring Tony up for dinner, because she won't notice the passage of time any more than he will.

"Damn," Xander whistles, softly. "Two of them. I don't know whether be impressed, or duck for cover."

"You should see him with Drs. Banner and Foster in the lab when they're going over star-bridge mechanics," Buffy murmurs back. "I keep a safe distance."

"Right," he chuckles, then slings an arm around her shoulders. "I vote we make a run for it, then. We got the titanium tour on our way down, but that was all for Willow. You want to show me some of the more interesting areas? I heard a story about a shooting range, and a paint bomb...."

She laughs, turning her face into his shoulder for just a moment. Maybe Clint will even be there... though on second thought, it might be better if he and Xander never meet! But it can't be avoided forever; might as well get it over with.

"Okay. One ten cent tour, coming right up. Just let me drop this clipboard off at legal and find some more comfortable shoes."


	8. The Inevitable Shovel Talk

Buffy looks up from her menu at the slight sighing exhale of the seat cushion across from her, a smile already forming on her face. She never hears or sees Natasha before she sits down at these once-monthly ladies' lunches; that should be impossible given her Slayer senses, but Buffy has long since given up trying to anticipate the other woman. Natasha's very, very good at choosing her moments, and hiding her telltales in the environmental noise around them.

She's also always exactly on time. Just as the third member of their group is always early-- except, apparently, today. "Hey, Natasha," Buffy says, glancing at her watch. "Do you know where Pepper is? I was starting to wonder if I should worry."

Natasha's mouth curves in reply, a slight secretive smile that means she probably _should_ \-- but not for the reasons she'd been expecting. "She's fine. I asked Happy to take the scenic route today so we could talk," she replies.

The bottom of Buffy's stomach abruptly drops at that, her threat-assessing instincts suddenly sitting up and taking notice. "Uh... okay? What about?" she asks, mentally scrolling back through the events of the past several days. She hadn't _thought_ she'd done anything Natasha might take offense to....

...Unless she considers Buffy's recent, ah, _patrolling_ habits objectionable? Which, given how long the two SHEILD agents have been partners? Bucketfuls of duh.

Natasha lifts an eyebrow, just a millimeter or so, at Buffy's twitch of recognition. "Shovels," she replies smoothly.

Buffy blinks, momentarily thrown; what are the odds that a Russian assassin would come up with the same type of 'hurt my friend and suffer' shorthand as a bunch of teenagers from California? But then she makes the obvious connection, and drops her forehead to the table with a groan. "Xander already talked to Clint, didn't he?" she laments. "Kill me now."

"That would be counterproductive," Natasha says, voice warming ever so slightly with amusement.

"No, seriously, get it over with," Buffy replies, sitting back up and giving her friend her best harmless, I'm the victim here, look. "You think I'm worried about _Clint's_ reaction? If Xander cornered him in the Tower, JARVIS heard the whole thing, and Tony's going to make my life even more miserable than usual. It would be mercy!"

Natasha ignores the appeal, though her mouth twitches, just a little. "I don't think your _friend_ quite realized just how many ways there _are_ to use a shovel against another human being."

Buffy's wielded enough blunt edges in her day to have a fairly good idea, and what she hasn't personally seen? She's pretty sure she doesn't want to know. Poor Xander. "Stabbity, choppity, thwappity, crunchity?" she heads the explanation off, wincing. "If you're going to return the favor, could you at least be more creative? Like, 'why a spoon, cousin' territory, or 'to the pain' maybe? Bet you could do a really spectacular 'to the pain'."

Natasha's mouth twitches again, though there are darker shadows behind it now; and yeah, Buffy really, really doesn't want to know. Poor choice of wording. "Love him as I loved him, and I won't have to," the assassin replies, half quote and 100% meaning.

Buffy _has_ wondered about that. But the connection between Natasha and Clint has always vibed to her more like the way she feels about Xander than exes or besties with benefits; it's not that he's like a brother, or even that they've shared so many of each other's most terrible and vulnerable moments since young adulthood that there's no romantic mystery left, it's that their bond has always been at its tightest when sex is nowhere in the equation, and she values that support too much to risk.

"I thought love was for children," she replies. She means to be flip about it, but the words come out soft and questioning around the inexplicable lump in her throat. 

These _people_. Back in the day when Buffy had repeatedly claimed she wanted to be normal, what she'd _really_ wanted was not to feel so alone and set apart. And that's what she's found here, among several other spectacularly broken people who make it their business to save the world whether it likes it or not: even when she's acting in her role as The Slayer, she has _equals_ to lean on now. It makes it so much easier to balance her various friendships, work, and slayage when she doesn't have to always be The Boss of Us, or, worse, Ms. Moral Authority.

Natasha tilts her head a little, studying her, then relents with a smirk. "I'm not sure Clint ever really grew up," she muses. "And considering some of your methods of dealing with Tony, I sometimes wonder about you, too. Do you ever worry that lowering yourself to his level will damage your authority with him?"

Buffy accepts the change of topic with a snort. "You've met Willow, right? I know a lot of crazy smart people with no attention span, too much knowledge for their own good, and overachieving puppy dog eyes. Authority alone is useless; it can't stop them from doing whatever they want, so you have to make it worth their while to want to do what _you_ want them to do. But you already know that, don't you?"

"I do know that," Natasha agrees, smile fading into speculation. "I wonder what you would have made of Loki. And what he would have made of _you_."

"After the last small-g type I went up against?" Buffy shakes her head to nip that line of thought in the bud. She's heard the 'bag of cats' description, and after Glory, she's filled her quota of that for a lifetime. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm fresh out of Troll god hammers." 

The bell over the door rings, and the click of heels intrudes into the background noise of the café; they both look up, but it isn't Pepper. Not yet. Their window of privacy is closing, though.

"You'll have to tell me the rest of that story sometime," Natasha suggests.

If anyone could truly understand what happened that year-- especially the part where the childhood she remembers turned out to be a lie cooked up by a bunch of self-righteous old men, and the choices she'd made to deal with the fallout of that-- the Black Widow would. "Maybe I will," she decides. "When you tell me how you knew what a Hellmouth was?"

Natasha narrows her eyes at her, then nods, too. "Maybe I will."

"So... are we good, then?" Buffy asks, after a moment. "Any more warnings you want to deliver?"

"If I'm doing my job right," Natasha smirks, showing just a hint of teeth, "do you really expect a warning?"

Buffy smirks back, then pulls out her StarkPhone. She may not have Natasha's training, but she was a prom queen before she was the Slayer, and the counselor gig had been a good refresher course. She knows how to do the oblique acknowledgement dance without losing face-- and if Natasha had really wanted to dissuade her, they wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place. "I'm going to text Xander that I told Clint that he called you Ninja Barbie #3," she says.

Natasha's smile tells her that's she's taking the right course. "A woman after my own heart."

"No, Clint's," Buffy can't resist retorting, "though I can see how you might get confused."

The bell rings again while they're still chuckling. "You would not believe the traffic," Pepper breezes in, clicking her way across the café. "What have I missed? Tell me something fun; I've had a very Tony morning."

Her hugs are like concentrated sunlight; they bask for a moment, then sit down again and open their menus with a smile. 

-x-


End file.
